A Real Friend
by CoreSilence
Summary: Umm...it's something with England and his mythical friends...it'll get serious later, if all goes as planned. I'll try not to include ships here.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, this is my first fanfic ever, so please be nice...yes, I know I'm no good, XD.**

**Anyway,**** I hope you enjoy nonetheless. I know this first chapter's boring, but give it a chance? **

**My God I'm tired right now...I forgot what else I wanted to say. **

**Sooo...enjoy?**

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><p><span>Chapter 1<span>

He looked outside his window: it was raining. But that's normal weather here. It was actually comforting for the Brit. to hear the pitter-patter of droplets hitting glass and tile. It even made him nostalgic a little...

"Ms Fairy," he whispered, eyes frozen as if locked on something further away, "do your friends have any trouble during weather like this?" This question was asked as if recited by heart.

"No Arthur, we're perfectly fine. We know how to handle ourselves when it rains," chimed a meek, little voice beside his ear, reflecting the asker's tone.

Arthur turned his head slightly towards the little voice, and, with a small 'of course', he cracked a smile and turned back to the window.

England cared about them, his mythical friends, for as long as he could even remember. Sometimes they were his only friends.

His eyes were glazed and distant, thoughtful. His mind went back to the past, to the times when he was an empire and had many colonies, and to those moments he had with his newfound brothers, how he spoiled them and loved to do so. Then came that time...

Arthur's face became sour, yet his gaze didn't waver. His memories were taking him through it all: America leaving him with his War of Independence, Can...uh...that country slowly slipping away leading to the Dominion of Canada, Australia and New Zealand...

He gritted his teeth and frowned.

One by one, they left him. Him. Great Britain. What was wrong with being a colony anyway? Sure, there were some cons with not having control over your own land, but with how a large portion of citizens didn't vote in America and Can...Cannnn...da?...that place, and how Australians needed to be forced to vote with extra taxes, these ex-colonies didn't even deserve to be independent. Those bloody wankers...

A frustrated sigh escaped the gentleman as he ripped his eyes off the window and went for his umbrella.

"I'm going out for a couple of shots. Would you like to accompany me, Ms?" he offered the little damsel.

"Oh, of course," the fairy giggled, somewhat amused, "and I'll make sure to help you if you get...a little too 'tipsy'."

She quickly flew to his side and stationed herself on her friend's shoulder.

Arthur sighed, but only to stifle his laugh. He found that reply pretty funny, actually.

He grabbed his umbrella and made his way to the front door. As he opened the entrance and smelled the fresh, damp air caused by all the rain, one positive thought crossed his mind: he knew that, no matter what happened, he'd always have Ms Fairy and all the others by his side. Always.

He closed the door behind him, opened his umbrella and, with a small chuckle, walked under the rain with his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Well...my second chapter...gosh I feel rusty.**

**Sorry for the following: OOC-ness,** **lame insults and lamer writing.**

**...forgot what else I wanted to write...enjoy, I guess.**

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><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

"BE QUIET, YOU BLOODY WANKER!"

A typical phrase to be heard when both personifications of France and England are in a 20 mile radius, even more at official gatherings between countries. It didn't help that they were alone in the room...

"_Oh, mon ami, tu devrais te calmer un peu~_," teased the flamboyant Frenchman.

"OH-BY GOD!" England shouted, even more annoyed by the man, "SPEAK ENGLISH, YOU GODDAMN FOOL!"

But Francis continued, relishing in the Brit's reaction: "_Mais pourquoi? __Ma langue est si belle et poétique, que se serait du __gaspillage__ de ne pas l'utiliser~._"

Arthur couldn't help but stare...nay, glare. He was more than annoyed at this point, he was fuming. Not because he couldn't understand the fruity nut's 'mooing' that he called a language, even though he did (he hated to admit it, but both their languages are very similar and borrow terms from one another), but rather that the stupid wanker would go as far as to insolently defy him like that.

But he was calm. And with defiance of his own, he shot at France: "Yeah, _beautiful_. With all your silly, complicated tenses, your 'oh-so-specific' definitions, and your..."

Arthur paused. He made face of complete disdain and disgust before uttering the rest of his sentence.

And with an accent that is true to his heritage, he forced: "..._escargot_ and _bronzing_. What the bloody devil man!"

Francis made a motion, as it to speak, but Arthur interrupted: "Bloody Hell, I know what they are, you frog!"

And, at this, the Frenchman burst into a fit of laughter. France be trollin', yo!

"What. The. Bloody. Hell's. So. Funny?" said England through gritted teeth.

But France just kept laughing and laughing to the point of losing his breath. England, seeing how futile it was to say anything, waited for the 'bumbling idiot' to have his fill, his face reflecting just how much this bothered him.

Finally, when all the chortling, giggling and guffawing came to a halt, Francis straightened his back, eyes still teary, and he snickered: "_Honhonhon_, oh _Angleterre_, you of all people saying such things~."

England felt his face getting redder by the second.

France continued: "You're criticising my cooking_, quand tu ne peux même pas faire les plus simple des plats_ without burning them to a crisp. And besides, what's wrong with eating snails? People have eaten odder things, _non_? It's not like you have any skill."

"_Excuse me_," Arthur raged, about to explode, "I can cook. And it's delicious. You all just have bad taste."

"_Oui, oui,_ of course Iggy~," France shrugged, "And the 'bronzing'...well, what can I say? It's new and hip! And don't you have some words like that too? Like 'beef' and 'poultry' and-"

Francis couldn't finish his sentence due to a fist sent into his gut. He bent over from the pain and shock of the blow, only to get his faces punted, sending him a few feet away. Another brawl was about to start alright.

France sat up and wiped his mouth to check if he was bleeding (he wasn't though).

"_Honhonhon_!" he mocked, "It seems that you have lost your patience. But don't worry, _Grand Frère_ will-"

England didn't even wait for the Frenchman to finish. He grabbed France's collar, held him up, and was winding up to throw another punch when a little voice shouted: "No! Stop Arthur, please! Hurting him like this isn't right..."

England stopped. He turned his head towards the voice and saw one of his fairy friends there, her eyes becoming watery. He knew that she, among all of them, really hated violence.

The Brit sighed and let go of his captive, much to the latter's surprise.

And he bowed: "Very well, Ms. I am a gentleman after all. It pains me to see a beautiful young lady, such as yourself, in tears."

"Oh, Arthur," the fairy giggled, "thank you! Oh, thank you!"

"No problem at all, Ms," England smiled kindly.

France, watching all this, was shocked...to say the least. England just let him go with the lovable man not having to utter a single beg. And to add to it all, all he could see now was 'Monster-Brows' talking to nothing but the vacant on his left. Truly bizarre.

"_Sacré bleu!_ Who is this 'Ms' you are speaking to?" he asked, clearly confused, "More importantly, where is she?"

England shifted nervously at those questions. He knew that if he answered, he'll get a weird look from the git. Everyone looked at him funny when Arthur mentioned 'them'. Still, he answered truthfully despite the pit in his stomach.

"It's one of my friends...Ms Fairy," Arthur's voice was low, "She's right there. She asked me...to stop..." His voice trailed off.

France raised an eyebrow _'Still with those stories?'_ he thought, then shook his head and chuckled.

"Ah yes, one of those creatures from your myths," France said with an underline of scepticism in his voice, "Are you seriously telling _moi_ that you stopped simply because one of your imaginary friends asked you to?"

"She is NOT imaginary," England roared, eyes glaring at the pretty boy once more.

"Arthur, please..." begged the little voice beside him.

"_Non, non, non,_" 'Big Brother' scolded, "This is _non_ good, _ma chère Angleterre_. When you say things like that, it makes you sound crazy. As a country, you can't be like that."

England turned his head and kept quiet. He wasn't in the mood to argue with his colleague about how real his little winged-friend was. He just wanted that hairy twat to finish his ramblings and to leave him alone.

And France saw this clearly.

"England," he sighed, now serious, "this is why people don't take you seriously at times. I'm certain you'll be much more respected when you finally grow out of these little fantasies of yours and admit that these creatures are not-"

Again, he was interrupted. This time by a hand covering his mouth. He was pinned to the wall with great force, much more than he'd expect from Arthur nowadays.

"Do not...finish that sentence," England pronounced slowly, his words piercing.

He let go of the other nation and turned away to leave. But as he walked away, Arthur threatened without even turning his head: "Say those words at any time of the day, and I'll make you eat that tongue of yours."

Each step England took resounded surprisingly loudly. And it was only when he had left the room and closed the door behind him that France was able to snap out of his stupor.

"..._Quoi_?"

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><p><strong>TRANSLATIONS!<strong>

_Oh, mon ami, tu devrais te calmer un peu~_ = **Oh, my friend, you should calm down a little~**

_Mais pourquoi? __Ma langue est si belle et poétique, que se serait du __gaspillage__ de ne pas l'utiliser~_ = **But why? My language is so beautiful and poetic that it would be a waste to not use it~**

_Angleterre_ = **England**

_quand tu ne peux même pas faire les plus simple des plats_ = **when you can't even make the simplest of meals**

_Oui, oui,_ = **Yes, yes,**

_Grand Frère_ = **Big Brother**

_Sacré bleu!_ = **Sacred blue** (but seriously, it's just some stereotypical french swear or something; a literal translation's useless)

_moi_ = **me**

_Non, non, non,_ = **No, no, no,**

_ma chère Angleterre_ = **my dear England**

_Quoi_? = **What?**

And now I leave you with one request: please check for errors in my writings and tell me (yes, I reread through this, but sometimes I can't spot all my mistakes). Thank you.


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